Goodbyes
by Chellero
Summary: Carter struggles with the recent decisions she's made.


A/N: Much thanks to wolfmusic218!

"I couldn't find him, Finch." John Reese strode purposefully into the library, Bear only lifting his head for a moment from his comfortable perch before lowering it again. "You sure we're not looking for a ghost?" He headed over toward the cracked board with their latest number's photo taped to it. He was irritated. Anxious. The machine was on the fritz, lately not giving them enough time to act on the numbers it delivered. If he couldn't do what he was hired to do, what kept him going every day, then what was the point?

"He must have gone underground, John. And recently. With his lack of personal connections, it probably wasn't difficult for him to accomplish. His bank accounts show no activity and I'm looking into his credit card statements now."

"It would help if we could find _someone_ who knows him." He looked back at Finch. "How long has he been unemployed again?"

"Eighteen months."

Reese nodded. He'd visited the number's last known employment address and no current employee seemed to know him, and the manager had only been around the last six months. He sighed. "So what the hell do we do now?"

Finch looked up at his friend briefly, feeling the frustration rolling off him in waves. He understood it. And he was trying to fix it. The machine had been offline for the past two days, the last number it had given them tacked on their idea board mocking them.

And then there was Detective Carter. With news he needed to deliver to his partner sooner or later. "We keep searching for leads, John. Until we know." _Until we know we're too late. Again._ Harold watched as John continued to stare at the board before delivering the news. "Detective Carter resigned this morning." He watched for any reaction from his friend. His friend didn't move. "And she's changed her cell phone number." He wouldn't have any problem discovering her new number but he knew she knew that. She was simply sending them a message.

Finch waited for a response. It was about thirty seconds before he got one.

"I'm going to his last known address one more time. I might have missed something."

Finch watched as he turned on his heel and slowly left the library, the energy draining from his body with every step.

* * *

Joss Carter sat on her couch in the silence. It was Thursday afternoon and she should have been at work. Should have. She never missed work. Because she never got sick, never got hurt on the job, never needed the time off. The thought of sitting around idle never appealed to her, vacation never the source of excitement it was for other people.

But here she sat. Wondering how it had come to this. How it had come to the point where she could no longer call herself a cop. Upholder of the law. Keeper of order, defender of peace. All of those things she'd sworn to do.

She had turned her badge in that morning, having given herself a day to stew over how far she'd fallen.

Vigilantism was wrong. Ignoring vigilantism was wrong. Participating in vigilantism was wrong. It was akin to playing God. She used to know that. She used to believe that. She used to know it could and would lead to bad things. She'd even told him that once before.

And it turned out she had been right.

Lying to federal agents had been wrong. Breaking into federal facilities to tamper with evidence was wrong. Drugging an unsuspecting, innocent person had been wrong. Framing someone else for John's supposed crimes had been wrong. Even though he was guilty of other things, it was still wrong. Thwarting a legitimate investigation until it inadvertently led to a federal agent's death had been wrong.

It was all wrong. She used to know that.

Spending an entire night digging up a murder victim so her partner wouldn't have to go down for a crime he swore he didn't commit was wrong. There was a reason the justice system existed. A reason why suspects were presumed innocent until proven guilty. She could have let it go. She could have let the system do its job. She could have waited to see whether Lionel would be acquitted. Through legal means. The way it was supposed to be.

She could have obeyed the law. The one she had sworn to uphold and defend.

But she didn't. She didn't uphold the law. She broke it. She was breaking it. She had been breaking it ever since she met them. And she'd been kidding herself about it ever since. Kidding herself that she was doing the right thing. That she was still a good cop. Tamping down the increasing cognitive dissonance until it was no longer manageable. Until it finally broke her down and eclipsed her.

What would have been next? Murder? Would she have killed someone to protect John, Lionel, or Harold?

She was a dirty cop. Plain and simple. One of those she used to despise. One of those who abused the power they held. One of those who used it to selfishly benefit themselves and their friends. At the expense of others. She had turned on everything she used to believe in. And look where it got her. She didn't deserve to hold her badge. She didn't deserve the trust that was instilled with it. She couldn't sleep at night with it. The feeling was probably the only thing that separated her from the other dirty cops.

She was startled out of her self-loathing at the knock on her door. It was the middle of the day and she had not been expecting anyone. Nobody knew she had quit her job save for Lionel. He didn't know why she quit but she asked him to make Beecher and Szymanski priorities until he found out who killed them. And he'd promised her he would.

She went to the door and glanced through the peephole. It was John. Finch must have been on top of his eavesdropping duties that morning. She sighed. She didn't want to see him. Didn't want to talk to him. Didn't want anything to do with him anymore. It was over. This was over. Everything she thought she knew about herself was out the window. She needed to regroup. Start over. Build a new Jocelyn Carter. And she couldn't do that with them. With him.

She started back over to her couch but paused before she reached her destination. She probably needed to tell him that. Tell him and then move on. She had more than repaid him for saving her life. Her son's. They were even. She could cut the cord with as clear a conscience as she could manage at this stage. Say goodbye. Wish him and Finch the best. Wipe her hands of it all. Be done. It hadn't been worth it. It hadn't been worth losing herself.

He knocked again. She knew he knew she was home. So she finally turned back around and let him in. He didn't say anything, heading toward her couch before turning and facing her. He didn't sit down. Just stood in front of the couch like he wanted to sit but was one second away from pacing and didn't want to waste the time getting back up.

He looked pitiful. Like he hadn't slept much the night before. His eyes were watery, slightly red. She went back through every exchange she'd ever had with him and could only remember seeing him like this twice before. Both recent. When he apologized for getting them caught on the bridge when both of their lives were practically over, and when he was saying goodbye to go die with a bomb strapped to his chest. She walked over to him. He was clearly struggling with what to say so she decided to take pity on him and open up the dialogue. "You don't need to be here, John. It is what it is."

She watched as he lowered his head and shifted his feet. When he raised it again, she was surprised to see him fighting back tears.

"I'm sorry." He was. He was so sorry. Beyond sorry. For bringing her down. Ever so closer to his level. Encouraging it. Cultivating it. Until he'd destroyed her.

He didn't know why. He didn't know why he'd done it. She had asked for his help. His help with Fusco. After having never asked him for anything else before. And what had he done? He'd left her to fend for herself, caused her to lose another piece of her beautiful soul.

He'd forced her to spend all night digging up a dead body, by herself, when she hadn't had a damn thing to do with any of what had happened. That dead body had been on him and Fusco. Not her. She'd only just had the huge misfortune of meeting him. Him. Who couldn't simply leave her alone to do her job. To do what New York City needed her to do. She was one of the good ones. He knew that now more than ever. He'd murdered a lot of people in his time, the most recent only a couple days ago, but this was the first time he'd murdered someone's soul. "I killed him. I should have taken care of it. I shouldn't have done this to you."

Carter swallowed. She felt tears burgeoning and she didn't know why. She deserved that apology. She did. He had put her in a terrible position. Fusco, too. Especially since he'd been the one who killed Stills. So why? Why was he willing to let Fusco go down for it? She thought he'd had their backs. But apparently she'd been wrong. If she had been the one in trouble, would he have shrugged his shoulders, gone looking for another asset, and kept it moving? It hurt. That realization hurt. Because of everything she'd sacrificed for him. "So why? Why did you do it?"

"It was my first case with Finch and Stills had tried to ki-"

"No, not that. I don't care about that right now. Why weren't you going to lift a finger to help Fusco? Especially since you knew he didn't do it. You would have left me hanging too? After all we've been through?"

"You never would have gotten involved in anything like that."

She scoffed at that. She wasn't so sure herself anymore. "How do you know that?"

"I know you."

"You don't know a damn thing about me." She had had enough. She didn't know what she was expecting but she didn't like what she was getting. Why had he come anyway? What was he trying to accomplish? She walked over to her door and opened it. "Bye, John."

He looked at her, blinking back the tears. He couldn't walk out that door. He couldn't walk out of her life. He couldn't face his without her in it. Isn't that why he had come in the first place? To try to make things right? To deal with his fuck up? "Carter..."

"John, I have so much on my plate right now. So much I have to do, think about. Please just go. I'm done." She watched as he stared at her, shoulders drooped, eyelids heavy. He was like a different person, standing there looking drained and defeated in her living room.

Who was he? Who the hell was he? She hadn't a clue at all. Not anymore. She didn't know him any more than he knew her.

"I can't."

She frowned, confusion marking her features. "You can't what?"

"Leave you...like this."

She sighed, closing her eyes as she contemplated what to do, the open door's handle still in her grip. Try to hear him out. Kick him out. Both appealed to her. For different reasons. She eventually decided she wanted to know. What he had to say to ease his obviously guilty conscience. She silently closed the door again, leaning her back against it, crossing her arms to simultaneously display her displeasure and force him to find whatever words he wanted to give her before her patience ran out. She shifted slightly when he finally sank down onto her couch and put his head in his hands. She swallowed again. Who the hell was this man?

He finally lifted his head from his hands, sliding them down his face before settling his elbows on his knees. "I'm not nice, Carter. I'm not a nice man." He looked up at her. He tried to find the words. "I think..." Stumbling, he started over. "It came out. I wanted it to come out. I wanted you to see what I was. That I wasn't worth it. What you did for me. I couldn't handle it. What you did."

Carter nodded as she stood with her back pressed against the door. "Well I got it, John. It came through. Loud and clear." She didn't. She didn't get it at all. She couldn't reconcile the man she thought she knew with the one he was claiming to be. How could she have been so wrong? She couldn't accept it. If he wasn't a nice man, a good man, she would have given up everything for nothing.

And she simply could not accept that.

"But I've always cared about you, Carter. I always have." His voice choked on the latter. He watched as she looked down, her arms still crossed over her chest. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he rose from the couch and went to stand in front of her. She raised her eyes to his as he finished his confession, placing his left hand on the right side of her face, his thumb lightly caressing her cheek. It was soft. So soft there. "I always will." He continued to stare into her eyes, asking her to believe what he was saying. Imploring her to understand what she meant to him. In spite of who and what he was. Trying to communicate to her how sorry he was that he wasn't who she thought he was.

Still, she saw it. She was beginning to see it again. What she'd always seen in him.

And it gave her something she could accept.

It also drove her next words. "I care about you, too, John. You know that." She shook her head at him. "Even if you're not a nice man." She did. Even if she was a fucking idiot for doing so, she still did.

He swallowed, the unshed tears threatening to spill over. She still cared about him. After all he'd said and done. She still cared. "I'm sorry." He dropped his hand from her face and wanted to make a clean escape before she saw more of what he didn't want her to see. But she reached out, stopping him. Reached out and wrapped her arms around him as he fought the sobs trying to wrack his body. "I'm sorry, Joss."

After about a minute, he pulled himself together. Because this wasn't like him. And he needed to snap the hell out of it. Pulling his arms from around her, he placed his palms on each side of her face, using his thumbs to gently wipe at her tears. He thought about trying to save face. But he knew he wouldn't be able to do it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd come this close. To crying. He hadn't even allowed himself to do it when he found out about Jessica.

And he realized he didn't want to save face. After everything she'd done for him, everything she'd given him, he could give her this. At least. He could give her his vulnerability. She was the one person he could share it with.

"I'm sorry about Cal. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." He watched as she nodded, his hands still on her face. The softness. He didn't want to let go. "We'll find out who did it. Who was responsible. Szymanski, too." He knew that one still bothered her. The guilt he knew she still felt for the bullet Szymanski had taken when Moretti was kidnapped. On top of the guilt she still felt over Donnelly's death. She was right to stop working with them. After all of the death and destruction, she was right. And he decided then and there HR was going down if it was the last thing he did.

Taking a deep breath, he reluctantly drew his hands away from her face and dropped them to his sides. "What now?"

She shook her head and shrugged her shoulder. "I don't know yet."

He nodded, more to himself than to her. Because this was it. For them. In their current arrangement. He couldn't let go, though. He wasn't sure he would make it if he did. She had been his anchor this whole time and he hadn't even known it. "Can I take you to lunch sometime? See how you're doing?" He watched as she quickly looked up at him, taken aback. Watched as realization dawned on her. That he didn't want this to be goodbye. That even if they no longer worked together, he didn't want this to be the end. She had brought him the closest he'd been to good in a long time. And he had liked it, no matter how fleeting. "Might still be some hope for me." He paused a moment before continuing. "If you're still with me."

She looked at him, eyes darting between his. It needed to be goodbye. A clean break. That was the whole point. Why she quit the job she was no longer worthy of, why she even let him into her house. All the lines she'd crossed. All the illegal, wrong things she'd done. They were all because she met him. Believed in him. In what he was doing. To the point where she was drugging people and digging up dead bodies to spare her formerly crooked partner. A dead body she now knew was by his hand. The lines were beyond blurred and she was struggling to find some focus. Focus she needed not just for herself but for her son. He needed his mother whole again. She needed herself whole again. She shook her head. "I think this needs to be goodbye, John." She watched as the devastation cratered his face. Watched as he turned in on himself. She was hating herself. Hating herself right now. "I'm sorry."

He nodded, no longer meeting her eyes. He understood. It was better this way. For her. And he'd do anything for her.

But it hurt. It hurt so bad he had to get out of there immediately. He refused, though. He refused to say goodbye. Maneuvering around her, he opened the door and let himself out.

She closed the door behind him and let her tears fall.

Because it hurt. It hurt so damn bad.

~End


End file.
